


The Next Clan Gathering

by Merfilly



Category: Earth's Children - Jean M. Auel
Genre: Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Post-Canon, Yuletide, at least for the first book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-14 16:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16496333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: It's the Clan Gathering after Ayla was cursed with death, and Durc is a young hunter of the clan, no matter how much Broud still hates him for existing.





	The Next Clan Gathering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plumeria47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumeria47/gifts).



> Dear plumeria47, I hope that does at least some justice to your request!

As much as Broud still hated Durc, he dared not exclude the young hunter from any of the events at the Clan Gathering. Durc was, at almost nine, tallest of the hunters, faster on his strangely straight legs than Grev, and better with a sling than any of them.

That he had also mastered Brun's own bola before the old leader had gone to walk with the spirits was one more damning feature in Broud's eyes. Through the final years of Brun's life, Broud had been made to endure it as Durc was trained one on one by the mate of his mother.

He had grown to regret placing Durc at Vorn's fire, as well, because Vorn was less willing to chastise Durc, even when Broud reminded him that the deformed boy had to be perfectly Clan in everything. He had scowled at the need to allow for the too-tall boy to have his manhood ceremony that year. Of course, it had also allowed for Grev to have his early, but that was beside the point.

Now, with the Clan Gathering at hand, he thought that maybe he would finally undo all of the slights and insults Durc's mother had cast over him. The clan, _Broud's_ clan now, would take their place in the top of the ranks. There was no other acceptable outcome.

* * *

Grev poked Durc lightly in the arm to get his attention. "Excited?" he asked, hand moving quickly. Durc nodded, lips pulling back in the expression he still used, showing his teeth. It meant he was happy, and Grev laughed. "You will find your mate here. The mate of my mother cannot take back that promise, or he will lose face."

"I know. Vorn reassured me of it," Durc said. "Goov said they mean to find more hunters, and maybe a woman for you, since we have lost many in the last seasons."

"Maybe things will work that way." Grev nodded, unconcerned about his own mating. Igra, for all that she was Brac's mate, had been good to him when he needed a woman. Brac had never minded, knowing their clan was short on young women.

Durc, though, had never given in to the urge. Grev was pretty certain his best friend had never actually felt his needs rise, because, even if he was taller than Grev himself, Durc didn't have the beginnings of a beard even! Some said that maybe he was part woman, but never where Broud could see, because they all loved Durc, and did not wish him more trouble with their leader.

"You'll do well in the competitions. You may even face Ursus!" Grev said, eyes round at the idea.

Durc shrugged. "I doubt that. We are both very young hunters. There are others who will be chosen for the events that decide."

"The mate of my mother would be wrong to not include you," Grev urged, making certain to keep his hands where only Durc could see, for that criticism of the leader of their clan.

Durc rested a hand on Grev's fist, stilling the words completely, before he gave a smile. "It will be as is," he signed after, before guiding his friend to help with activities that needed strong hunters, away from the children and women of the clan.

* * *

Broud pointed out Grev for the running, and scowled when Vorn made a twitch of a sign, making his second be silent. He did not want to be reminded of the ugly one being faster than the son of his mate. For his part, Durc did not let the slight show in his body or face. Uba told him that Mother had learned how to never show the pain or irritation, and he refused to be less than his mother.

Maybe he was less than a Clan man for that sentiment. The Woman Who Hunts was his mother, and his measure for being a good man was to be as strong as she had been. Vorn was a good man, had done well by his raising and training. Brun had done more, before he was called to walk with Ursus.

Uba kept the memory of Ayla, his mother, strong within him, telling him stories when he was a boy, even though Ayla had been cursed with death. Durc clearly remembered her leaving, remembered that the woman had gone with her head held high, despite the pain they were all feeling.

Brun's words for her that day had remained in Durc's memory too. He would do nothing to fail to be as strong as the woman Brun would have preferred to have as son of his mate.

* * *

Durc was the only choice for both bola and sling. While Brac had made himself learn sling, a fact that never stopped irritating the mate of his mother, Durc was just better at it. His arm had a better rotation, and he could hit targets from further away. While he had gotten strange looks for his features, no one spoke against him.

The Others had been breaching traditionally Clan lands for some time now, and Durc had seen a few other clans with deformed children like him. He was curious why they had been allowed to live. He knew his mother had fought for him. He had been told Ura had been made to live as a punishment. Or, were those other clans as desperate for surviving children as their own?

The clan had not grown in the four years since the earth shaking had driven them higher into the mountains, away from the sea. Stillborn children had come to be. Ona had given birth to one child that lasted a moon before the boy's heart failed, or so Uba had decided.

Why did thinking about such things always make Durc remember the Mog-Ur? The old man and his fearsome features were nothing but a gentle presence in Durc's memories, but there was something there, something about him that had been said… and Durc could not recall it.

In that, too, Uba said he was like his mother. She did not have the Memories. Durc had been so unsettled by the manhood ceremony, the datura tea making him slide into a different frame of mind but not guiding him down the ancestral path at all. He had done his best to conceal that, thankful that Broud reacted to the tea as strongly as most Clan men did, so it would not be another point of contention.

Some day, things would change. Durc knew he was odd, knew that his thinking of a time not now was seen as a thing of spirits, but it consumed him.

Maybe… maybe it began with meeting Ura, taking her back to his clan. He would learn her as a person, and think some more. But like the legend he was named for, Durc saw a need for something different.

* * *

Broud's clan was not in the lead, and that had Broud angry. More he resented the sidelong looks as he chose who to compete at each stage. Individual standing was favoring Brac, so far, but there were many outside his clan that had noted Durc's abilities and wondered why the leader failed to use his best, even if the hunter was young and beardless.

The final competition, with the racing and spearing, was at hand. Grev was an adept runner, strong and sure with his spear, but he was also a new hunter. Maybe Groob could do this? He was also a solid hunter, and had made points for them with his stone points.

He flashed back on the last time, when his own place had been chosen, and recalled the death of Norg, the maiming of the other hunter in the ring around Great Ursus.

"Durc."

At the call of his name from his leader, the ugly hunter turned.

"Run-and-spear is yours. Win, you will face the Mighty Ursus."

Surely Ursus would rid him of the reminder of that woman.

"I obey," Durc said, the motion needling Broud with memory without intent to do so.

* * *

Durc was breathing evenly. Both of the other two hunters were two or three years older than he was, yet their excitement betrayed itself in the flare of their nostrils. He hoped spirits made attention to the living at moments like this. He wanted the ones who had shaped him to see this moment, as he represented his clan to Ursus himself.

He kept his eyes on Ursus, knowing he was being watched as well, by his clan, by others who looked like him, but younger, and by Ura, the girl that would be going back with him as his mate. She was not yet a woman, but would be soon. He had to be strong, to provide for her, because Broud already did not like her. Goov had agreed to let the girl live at his fire until she was of age, though.

Broud did not want to go against his mog-ur, when it was known he had promised to allow it.

Ursus moved suddenly, prodded forward by spear tips, and Durc gave himself over to the hunt. He did not know either hunter with him, but he had to work with them. He gave way to their experience, let them set the pace and tone… always moving, quick to prick the bear with his spear to draw it back from raging against one of the others.

He called to his totem to be with him, to give him cunning and stamina alike, as the hunt went on and on, moving ever closer to the gathered Clan that surrounded them all. He was too much the son of medicine women to be willing to see people hurt, and kept his awareness open to where they were at all times.

That too, he knew, marked him as different from clan men. The shape of his thoughts were imprinted by women as much as the men.

To his left, the hunter from the third-ranked clan faltered, and was swiped by a huge paw, throwing the hunter into the crowd of people. Durc didn't think or hesitate, as he realized that the bear's arm was away from his body, exposing a vulnerable point. He charged in, before the arm could come back into attacking position, and jammed his spear under the shoulder, through the ribs on the side.

Then he felt a powerful blow, and was flying back, landing among the gathered clans. He could not see, but heard the anguished roar as the third hunter put his own spear into the bear, felt the ground tremble as the huge creature slammed down into it. Durc could barely breathe, his chest afire with pain, but then a medicine woman, carrying the scared otter bag, was there, and he closed his eyes to keep from seeing her fear.

He would live, a fact he knew somehow. And the scars of Ursus, marking him to that totem like a mog-ur, would be one more reason for Broud to hate him.

Maybe, though, Ursus would guide him to the right path for his clan, so they could survive the times to come.

* * *

Broud simmered in his anger. Not only had Durc survived Ursus, but his spear thrust had been deemed the deadlier of the two fatal blows. The Gathering had ended with him having not one, but two deformed members, firmly in second place as a clan, and a general dissatisfaction with life in itself.

The sons of his mate would have to be better… and that would mean pushing both to ignore Durc more. Somehow.

He was young enough that he might see the next Gathering easily. He had to regain their status, and to do so, they needed to be rid of all things not-clan.

Like Durc.

He just had to find the right way.

* * *

Durc kept to his place at the end of the clan's hunters, as their youngest one, while Grev enjoyed the position closer to the head, as son of the leader's mate. He'd seen true hatred in Broud, aimed his way, sharpening with the tang of danger.

The time to come was full of change… and it would mean facing that hatred, Durc knew.

He just hoped he had time to grow fully into his strength before it came true.


End file.
